


Wherever You Go, There You Are.

by ajestice



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Eventual Romance, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mammon is Pure, Mammon is Smart, Other, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Reader has a panic attack, Reader is gender neutral, Reader-Insert, i will die on this hill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:40:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22839439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajestice/pseuds/ajestice
Summary: For a long time, you blamed the tree for what happened on that first night.-In which the reader has a full-blown panic attack at the end of their first day in Devildom, and Mammon comes to the rescue. Cuddling happens.
Relationships: Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Comments: 75
Kudos: 1122
Collections: Best of Fanfiction, obey me! hot devil lover simulator





	Wherever You Go, There You Are.

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Vivid descriptions of a panic attack. 
> 
> I just... really do not want to understate this, because mental health is fucking important, guys.
> 
> Also, Reader is gender neutral, which is not something I have a great deal of experience writing, so if I fucked it up, please let me know.

Your bedroom was beautiful, like something out of a fairy tale. Dark wood polished to a shine and upholstered in velvet and satin. Thick, soft blankets and fluffy pillows piled high on an enormous bed. A tree that seemed to have grown up out of the very stones beneath your feet to canvas the walls and ceiling in a tapestry of living, breathing art.

For a long time, you blamed the tree for what happened on that first night.

You couldn’t blame Diavolo, because back then, you had no idea why he’d chosen you. And you couldn’t blame Lucifer, because the poor thing already seemed halfway down the path to a nervous breakdown as it was, and also because he honestly scared the ever-loving _crap_ out of you.

So instead, you blamed the tree. Because you had been plucked from your quiet little life in bum-fuck nowhere by a literal _demon lord_ , dropped into a den of chaos and iniquity, and informed that this would be your life for the next year.

Good luck.

Have fun.

Oh, and _try not to get eaten alive by any of your classmates._

That had been the gist of it, really. And on that first night, as you stood there in the center of that impossibly beautiful room, staring at long, winding branches that seemed to grow effortlessly out of stone and wood and glass, you felt the first stirring of panic slither up out of the darkness of your mind like a fat, slimy worm.

And it settled there. And it grew.

And it was all that _fucking_ _tree’s_ _fault_.

The storm of light and sound and chaos that had swept you up and carried you along all day had finally faded. Around you, there was nothing but stillness and silence. Haunting, like the faded photographs of Chernobyl you’d seen in your old high school text book. Empty schools with grammar books still open on tiny desks. Abandoned homes with delicate little tables draped in rotted lace, with spoons and teacups now coated in pale, poisonous dust.

This was the emptiness that settled around you.

And it was going to _eat you alive._

You sat down – right there, in the center of the room – and pulled out your cellphone.

Your… hellphone?

You felt the laughter bubbling up in your throat, but you ruthlessly smothered it. You knew better than to give in to the urge, because if you started laughing now, you wouldn’t be able to stop, and eventually the laughter would dissolve into deep, heaving sobs that wracked your body and bruised your soul.

Your hands were shaking, and you couldn’t remember what any of these fucking apps were meant to do, but it didn’t matter because your vision was starting to blur and your fingers weren’t responding to your commands anymore and soon you would be too far gone to…

_Found it._

You tapped the icon, missed, tapped it again, and clicked on the first – and only – contact in your call log.

The phone trilled softly in your ear, rhythmic and familiar, and it anchored you just enough, _just enough_ to allow you a single slow, trembling breath. And then another. And another.

He answered on the fifth ring.

“What? What d’you want?”

His voice was different, now. Deeper than you remembered, rough with sleep and no small measure of annoyance. The panic worms writhed in the darkness, whispering poison, whispering fear and confusion and _demon_ and _stranger._

But you were sitting in the middle of a room that wasn’t yours, in a world where you didn’t belong, and you were _alone_.

“Mammon,” you said, very calmly – he would later inform you that when you had spoken to him on the phone that night, you had sounded like Death itself, and not in the metaphorical sense. He’d had nightmares for months.

“Y-yeah?”

“There’s a tree in my room.”

That was it. That was all you managed before the darkness took you. Hooked its ragged claws deep in your chest and _squeezed,_ dragging you down into a seething, screaming pit of nothingness where there was no light, and no air, and no mercy. And you were dying.

You were dying. And you were alone.

Time had no meaning in the darkness. Every moment stretched into an eternity. At first, you weren’t aware of him. You couldn’t feel the warmth of his body as he picked you up and pulled you onto his lap, and you couldn’t hear the steady, rhythmic sound of his voice as he spoke to you. These were not things you were capable of recognizing because you were dying, and you were alone.

And then.

Slowly.

All at once.

You weren’t.

When you tried to take a breath, you found air instead of emptiness. You filled your lungs with it, and the claws of panic loosened their grip, pulled themselves out of your chest, and evaporated.

You opened your eyes, but you didn’t understand what you were seeing. Not at first. Words like _skin_ and _muscle_ held no real meaning to you. They were simple terms with clinical, detached definitions that were completely irrelevant to you.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re okay.” His voice was soft and gentle. So gentle. So different from the way it had been, before.

When you reached up to touch him, he fell silent. He sucked in a sharp breath, and as you watched the muscles of his chest rise and fall beneath your fingertips, all the strange words floating through your mind started to have meaning, again.

Skin. Muscle.

Demon.

Stranger.

“Are you real?” you whispered.

“I think so,” he replied. You could feel the vibration of his voice through his chest, and beneath it, the slow, steady beat of his heart, and it called to you in a way that nothing had ever called to you, before. You moved on instinct, pressing yourself closer, as close to him as you could get, and he let you cling to him without a word of complaint. He was careful when he adjusted his grip on you, shifting back on the bed so that you could rest your head against the hollow of his shoulder.

Demon.

Stranger.

The words had meaning, now, but they didn’t matter.

Whatever he had been before this moment, before this memory, no longer mattered. He had saved you, and that had changed everything.

His skin was warm and soft, despite the hard muscles beneath. He smelled like leather and soap and fresh ink, and his skin was dusted with tiny white-gold hairs that tickled your nose as you breathed him in.

When you brushed your fingertips over his chest, he made a low, satisfied noise in the back of his throat, and you felt his entire body relax beneath you. How long had he been holding you like this, anchoring you to the world while you fought against the seething chaos in your own mind?

How much longer would he stay?

The thought sent a bolt of agony arcing down your spine. You reached for him, blind and terrified, and buried your face in his neck with a pathetic little whimper that you would later think back on and hate yourself for.

“Hey, it’s alright,” he said quietly, and was that a hint of a smile in his voice? One big hand splayed across your back and pressed you closer against him. “Calm down. I’m not goin’ anywhere, I promise.”

You let out a shuddering breath, but it took several minutes for your body to remember how to relax. Long enough for a tendril of shame to wriggle through your mind.

You started to pull away, to give him some space, and his arms immediately tightened and pulled you back down against him so that your head was resting against his chest. Even if you’d had the energy for it, you wouldn’t have tried to struggle. You didn’t _want_ him to stop holding you, and he knew that, so he kept holding you.

That simple, wordless understanding was what finally brought you back to yourself, like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place. You were still light-headed, and your body felt like it had been hit by a bus, but you were _you_ again.

And you were not alone.

“Mammon?” you whispered.

“Yeah?”

You took a deep breath and let it out in a heavy sigh. “Trees are stupid.”

He hummed thoughtfully. “Want me to kill it for you?”

“Maybe." You closed your eyes. "Let me think about it.”

“Take your time.”

“Do _you_ have a tree growing beside your bed?”

“No.” He was quiet for a moment. “But I do have a car and a pool table in my room.”

“…on purpose?”

He huffed. “Not like I can keep ‘em anywhere else.”

“Why not?”

“Because my brothers are a bunch‘a spiteful, vindictive little shits.”

You snorted a laugh. “And you’re not?”

“I never said that.” He paused. “And don’t get smart with me, ya little brat.”

“Or what? You’ll eat me?”

He remained silent just long enough for a spike of alarm to pierce your chest, but when you lifted your head to look at him, you found him watching you with an _insufferably_ smug grin on his face. “Somethin’ bothering you, sweetheart?”

“ _Ugh_.” You rolled your eyes and plopped your head back down on his chest. He didn’t even flinch. “You suck.”

“Hey, you started it.”

He was right, of course, but you’d be damned if you were going to admit that to _him_ , so you chose to remain silent, instead.

After a few minutes, Mammon sighed. “I’m not _actually_ gonna eat you,” he said. “You know that, right?”

You wanted to believe him, but earlier that evening, you’d gone down to the dining room with him and found yourself faced with a massive, elegant table, upon which rested the most freakishly enormous roasted turkey you had ever seen in your entire life.

And you had watched, horrified, as Beelzebub had picked up the entire thing and swallowed it whole.

Your brain, ever the fucking idiot that it was, had chosen that moment to make the _super helpful_ observation that the widest part of your body was actually _smaller than that fucking bird._

You sighed and lifted your head to meet Mammon’s gaze.

“Don’t take it personally,” you said in a flat voice. “I want to believe you. I really do. But… I’ve seen your brother eat.”

He looked at you for a long moment. And then he _smiled_.

Golden light flickered in his eyes. The air around you crackled with electricity. You felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

**“Iuro noli vulneraberis.”**

You blinked, and just like that, he was back to normal.

Well, normal for _him._

“Um.” You raised your hand. “Question.”

Mammon’s head fell back against the pillows as he heaved a dramatic sigh. “It’s no big deal,” he said. “I just swore an oath statin’ that I’ll never hurt ya.”

“What, like… _ever?”_

“Yup.”

“So… you can never squish me like a bug? Or burn me to a pile of ash? Or cut me up into tiny little pieces and feed me to your brother?”

“Well, I could _try_ ,” he mused, “but then the binding would activate and I’d be torn apart by my own power.” He paused, and his expression turned sly. “And don't kid yourself. Beel could swallow you whole.”

Okay, so ignoring that last part, you now found yourself faced with the alarming realization that an actual, literal demon lord had just sworn on his _actual, literal life_ that he would never, ever hurt you.

And damn if that didn’t make you want to just melt into a puddle, right then and there.

“That..." you shook your head. “That was really sweet of you, Mammon.”

“Oi!” His head snapped up. “Don’t go around sayin’ shit like that! I have a reputation to maintain.”

You smiled. “Right. Sorry.”

He glared at you for a moment, and then closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the pillows, which you appreciated, because it gave you the opportunity to study him without interruption.

He was half-naked, wearing a pair of soft, low-slung sweatpants that might have once been black, but had long ago faded to a muted gray. His silvery hair stuck out in all directions, and there were faint, dark circles under his eyes. Which were a brilliant blue and gold heterochrome, because _of course_ the super-powerful ancient demon lord wouldn’t have _normal_ colored eyes. That would be asking way too much. 

God, he was beautiful. You had no idea how you looked right now – you didn’t really want to know – but you were absolutely certain that, even at your best, you could never compete with the half-naked, sleep-deprived, and slightly-homeless-looking demon in front of you.

It wasn’t fair.

“Mammon?”

“Hm?”

You laid back down, resting your head in the hollow of his shoulder and curling your arm around his waist. “Thank you.”

He gave a short huff of laughter. “For what?”

The bitterness in his voice surprised you, and it took you a moment to realize what it really meant.

He hadn’t done anything to help the panic attack, not really. Without the assistance of prescription medication, or perhaps a powerful blow to the head, there was very little _anyone_ could do.

But that wasn’t why you’d thanked him.

You tapped your finger against his chest, once.

“For being here.”

Twice.

“For being real.”

Three times.

“For being _you._ ”

He didn’t respond. At the time, you didn’t know him well enough to realize that he was too busy having an _absolute_ _fucking crisis_ to speak. Because there he was, having just spent the past three hours watching you quietly lose your mind, only to have you turn right around and fucking _wreck_ him with three simple words.

After a while, you decided he must have fallen asleep, so you passed the time replaying the day in your head, analyzing your conversations and cataloguing everything you had learned about the Devildom and its inhabitants.

The moment you had first met Mammon, you’d taken an immediate liking to him; he didn’t want you here, and that was a sentiment to which you could _strongly_ relate. You hadn’t asked to be yeeted into this interdimensional clusterfuck, and the fact that someone else found it to be just as terrible an idea as you did was a massive relief.

Hearing him list all the reasons you shouldn’t be here, all the ways this might end badly for you, and just how _unfair_ it all was to everyone involved, had been as satisfying as it was horrifying. You had to give credit where credit was due; he’d made a pretty fucking solid case against you.

But he had been overruled. And in several instances, completely ignored. And that had bothered you, because if Mammon, who was evidently third most powerful demon in this _entire fucking_ _dimension_ , could be so easily dismissed, then what chance did you have?

About a snowball’s chance in… well, _here_.

And so, Mammon had ended up spending most of the day dragging you – at times, literally – across campus, pointing out your classrooms and mapping the quickest and safest paths to and from your dorm. He answered your questions and introduced you to his brothers. And he talked. And talked. And talked.

Lord almighty, but that boy did _not shut up_.

At the time, you had found it exhausting, but looking back on it now, you realized that Mammon’s incessant chatter had actually been extremely effective at keeping your mind occupied throughout the day. And, seeing as you later had an epic mental breakdown the moment you were left alone with your own thoughts…

Yeah.

He was the only reason you hadn’t fallen apart in front of the entire fucking school.

And he was the only reason you weren’t still falling apart, right now.

It was like he had known exactly what to do, every step of the way. 

And.

Oh.

Holy shit.

_He had._

“What the fuck,” you whispered. You lifted your head and found him very much awake, and watching you with a carefully blank expression on his face. “Mammon, what the fuck? How did you know?”

The muscles in his jaw flexed. A moment later, he shrugged and glanced away.

“You looked like how I felt,” he said.

Lost.

Helpless.

Unwelcome.

Alone.

You buried your face against his neck and clung to him, wishing you could find the words to tell him just how much you appreciated him, how much it meant to you that he was there. How amazing he was. How _important_ he was.

But words had always been difficult for you, even at the best of times. So on that night, and in the many days that followed, you held him as tightly as you could, as often as you could, and you hoped it would be enough.

And it was.


End file.
